


Perfectly Splendid

by rawkfemme



Category: Amelia Peabody - Elizabeth Peters, Deeds of the Disturber
Genre: F/M, First Person, Oral Sex, She's slim and stacked hes broad and packing its a marriage made in smut heaven, after the fade to black, bath time fun, my favorite horny marrieds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 18:39:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13863642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rawkfemme/pseuds/rawkfemme
Summary: After a season of excavating, mystery, and intrigue, Amelia needed a bath. What happened after is always perfectly splendid.





	Perfectly Splendid

**Author's Note:**

> This work is set during the first scenes of “Deeds of the Disturber”. Ms. Peters is a fan of ‘fade to black’ as her work is not of the ‘adult’ variety, but Amelia and Emerson set such a striking image, that I had to let them have their way. This is my first foray into writing for Amelia’s voice. I hope I do her justice. The opening text in the notes below is from “The Deeds of the Disturber,” by Elizabeth Peters and is supplied to provide context. I do not own or claim any right to Ms. Peter’s intellectual properties. 
> 
> \------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> 
> He tossed the newspaper aside and rose to his feet. His gaze remained fixed on me, and the brilliance of his eyes had, if anything, intensified. "Don't you believe me, Emerson?" 
> 
> "Certainly, Peabody. Certainly." Having unfastened his wet trousers, he stepped out of them and fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. 
> 
> "Do please hang your trousers over the chair," I exclaimed. "I sent most of your clothing out to be laundered and I don't know when . . . Emerson! What are you doing?" The dampened fabric resisted his effort to free the buttons from the buttonholes. Biceps bulging, Emerson ripped it apart, and the remaining buttons flew about the room like bullets. 
> 
> “Aphrodite,” said Emerson in a hoarse voice. “Rising from the foam.”
> 
> I realized that I was still standing, with water dripping off of me and the big sponge I held. I burst out laughing. “Emerson you are too absurd, If you will hand me that towel--”
> 
> In a single bound Emerson crossed the room and clasped me to his breast.
> 
> I attempted to expostulate, pointing out the open window, the time of day, the slippery condition of my person (and his), the possibility of interruption by the safragi, Ramses, and/or the cat. Emerson’s only intelligible reply was a reference to a certain volume of Arabic verse with recommends a number of notions which would never ordinarily occur to even the most devoted of married persons.

Lifting me from my bath, Emerson proceed to place my midsection haphazardly over his shoulder. In two long strides of his strong legs, we were out of the lavatory and moving with dispatch through our rooms. 

“Emerson!  I’m dripping wet,” I exclaimed as the dampness of my back met the soft cotton bedclothes. 

“Yes. You are,” came Emerson’s growled reply from his station kneeling at the foot of the bed. His sapphire blue eyes met mine with an intensity that even after so long could cause parts of me to weaken. 

Emerson’s head lowered and his rough palms grazed up from my knees guiding my thighs to grant him greater access as he went. The coolness of the room meeting the warmth of my skin had caused my skin to contract and harden in places and I enjoyed the sensation of my husband’s talented ministrations there, but rational admiration and thought were soon lost at the familiar loveliness of Emerson’s tongue on one of his favorite parts of my anatomy.  I’ve kept no secret from the eventual reader of these volumes my deep and abiding love for my husband, as well have I alluded to his voraciousness and virility, and despite the fact that our marital attentions had been amplified after my recent encounter with the Master Criminal - Sethos, Emerson showed no fatigue or disdain for the task which he now undertook.  He seemed like a man starved, but who relished his meal. Delicate exploration of my most intimate of areas soon led to a swirling torrent of sensation that one is hard-pressed to put into words.  My breath deepened and my hips found naturally found a rhythm in matching with my husband’s. My fingertips grazed down my sides, the surface of which was raised to gooseflesh, and wound into Emerson’s thick ebony locks. His eyes raised to meet mine, and in noting this a heady moan escaped my lips. My husband’s heated gazes have never failed to move me. 

At my reaction, Emerson began an intensely focused foray. Gentle swirls gave way to passionate flicks and pulls at that precious pearl. Shortly, I found myself quite unable to concentrate and my eyes squeezed shut, providing me with a dazzling show of colorful explosions which seemed quite a fitting companion for the sensations that the rest of my person was enjoying. As my back arched off of the mattress and I crested into what can only be properly expressed as a pure moment of bliss, I felt myself stretch to accommodate one, no...two of my husband’s strong digits. His tongue was replaced by his thumb as he pressed and drove. 

The mattress sagged next to me and the warmth of Emerson’s kiss was at my breast, my collarbone, my ear. With his form next to me, I ached to touch him. As I’ve stated before, my husband possesses impressive musculature, won through hard toil as the most talented excavator Egyptology has ever known or will ever know. His suntanned skin, fresh from the winter season was smooth under my fingers as I traced a route from his broad shoulders across his strong chest and firm abdomen. My fingers took a lazy path as they moved below his navel, and I was rewarded with a frustrated-sounding curse. His pelvis moved of its own volition and I was emboldened to continue my quest. 

Rising to sit, I took him in my palm. His reaction was what any married person would expect from their spouse at such a time: arched back, eyes pressed shut, fists balled in the bedclothes; but still the nature of the response thrilled me.  I never tired of the effect that I have on Emerson, and do count myself as fortunate that I am able to be in a position to solicit such a display of appreciation. But we are in so many ways equally matched, and as I believe I’ve illustrated above, he also enjoys being able to cause my own body to act as such. After a few well timed movements of my hand and thumb, I lowered my lips to him. 

“Curse it, Peabody,” was what Emerson raggedly responded. While some may hear that and take it as an admonishment, I knew it was meant as high praise, as this was one of Emerson’s preferred pastimes. Encouraged, I lowered and lavished, swirled and...well, thoroughly enjoyed myself.  After too short a time, my husband’s hands were at my shoulders and I found myself being pulled away and flipped back onto the mattress. 

In a breath, he was over me. Our hands clasped and eyes locked sapphire to grey.  The exquisite sensation of perfect fullness overtook me and I believe I may have moaned his name.  I know I spoke something, because I recall that he interrupted me with a deeply passionate kiss and responded in kind.

“Peabody,”  Emerson whispered into my ear; the warmth of his breath causing a pleasant tingling down my side. My body joined the languid rhythm he led and we continued this dance for a most enjoyable duration. Warmth spread across my abdomen and soon the divine delight of our relaxed pace, was replaced by a tortured need.  Releasing his grip, my hands traveled down his spine to his well-shaped, as the French would call it,  _ derriere _ . Pressing him firmly into me, Emerson understood my meaning and continued with a renewed vigor. My breath caught in my lungs and erupted into a scream which Emerson attempted to stifle with a kiss, but I was not discouraged, as so intense was the sensation of pleasure that he caused. 

Soon, he dropped his head to my breast and lavished me with kisses, as he is wont to do when on the precipice of his own exquisite completion. After a stiffened shudder and a moan mouthed into my neck, he ran his tongue lightly around the shell of my ear before pulling the lobe lightly between his teeth. Emerson sagged with exertion and I could feel his brow perspire against my cheek. Rolling next to me, his fingers interlaced with mine and we enjoyed a moment of splendid serenity. 

I could feel Emerson begin to fall into slumber and realized that it was only a matter of time before Ramses and Abdulla would return. Ramses would likely be in need of a bath, and that room was in quite a state of disarray. 

“As much as I would enjoy to remain in this state for the rest of the day,” I prodded.

“Or in the state before it,” Emerson replied, sleepily.

“Indubitably. But you know as well as I do that we cannot.”

“I suppose not.” Emerson extracted himself from the position he had taken, unwinding his long legs from around my own, and began rifling through drawers and trunks looking for dry trousers and an undamaged shirt.  

Wrapped in the thin cotton sheet, with the warm Egyptian breeze bringing the heady scent of flowers in bloom through the gauzy curtains, I took just a moment before donning my dressing gown to admire the view afforded by my husband’s state of undress. However, he turned suddenly and caught me staring admirably. 

“Apollo, who has brought the sun.” 

“HaHA,” chortled Emerson as he bounded back over to the bed.  Grabbing me by the wrist he pulled me off of the mattress and against his broad chest.  “Peabody, you most remarkable of women. If I believed in Zeus or Ra, or any of the deities we spend so much time studying, I should thank them hourly for leading you to me.  In fact I believe it was Hathor herself who…” he started as his hand migrated from my waist to a location markedly lower. 

However, Emerson was not able to finish the thought or the gesture as there was an abrupt banging about and jangling of keys emanating from the hall outside of our rooms, accompanied by the distinctive pretension of our son’s voice, although I could not make out what he was saying. Pulling the undressed form of my husband behind me into the bathroom and shutting the door,, I struggled to quell a fit of absurd giggles.  Amelia Peabody Emerson does not giggle, but given the circumstance, the company, and my delightful mood, it could not be helped. Lowering his lips to mine, Emerson kissed me. That kiss held all the memories of Dahshur, and dahabeeyahs, and damned mummies along with all the promise of our future.  I truly am among the most fortunate of women. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you @cheile and @helen8624 for reading, revising, and reassuring!


End file.
